


Phlox

by Lostinthenightrain



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, F/M, First Kiss, Fred Weasley is gone, Grief, Muggle London
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:02:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29855043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lostinthenightrain/pseuds/Lostinthenightrain
Summary: It was a Tuesday. There was nothing special about Tuesdays. Except, this Tuesday.
Relationships: George Weasley/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 4
Collections: Hump Day Drabbles





	Phlox

**Author's Note:**

> For Wheel of Death Wednesday in the Facebook Group Weasleys, Witches, & Writers:  
> I chose Apocalypse & was tasked with  
> George Weasley  
> First Kiss  
> Muggle London.
> 
> This is unbeta'd work. All mistakes are my own.

**Phlox**

It was a Tuesday. There was nothing special about Tuesdays, but George Weasley took the day off from working at the shop on this particular Wednesday. One year had passed since that fateful day. His younger brother, Ron Weasley, was competent enough to run it for a day. Rubbing the back of his head, he glanced around the busy street he found himself on. The rain had finally let up so he was no longer being poured down on, not that he cared. It just kept people from watching him as they raced to get out of the rain.

Hermione Granger had mentioned that in Muggle London, a place she frequented due to her upbringing, was a great place to get lost in. Muggles didn’t know about Magic, nor did they know about the Weasleys. They especially didn’t know who George Weasley was, nor that he once had a brother the spitting image of himself. No - Muggle London would not recognize his face and for that he was grateful. 

He didn’t tell anyone where he was going, nor did he tell them the reasonings behind his departure. He didn’t particularly want to talk to anyone in the family on this particular Tuesday anyway. So as he wandered down unfamiliar streets, he lost himself in the hustle and bustle of everyday work life. People flitted past him without a glance at his face. The few that paused to meet his eyes would smile but he wasn’t able to return it. He could hardly stomach meeting their eyes. 

Tuesdays were supposed to be boring, busy, a day for the working class and yet so many people wandered the streets. Sure, it was downtown London, but that didn’t mean there had to be that many people walking about the space. Taking in a deep breath, he paused on a street corner and glanced at the sky. The thunderclouds were rolling in again. He could smell the rain in the air. So with a quick glance around, he noticed a few stores he could pop into for a bit while he waited for it to pass. The bookstore held no interest as he hardly picked up a book. The grocery store didn’t even get a second glance as he had no appetite. But the florist shop caught his eye as he thought back to the woman who would be huddled in the kitchen back at the Burrow hiding away her tears.

Pulling his coat closer to his neck he trekked across the street and walked through the double doors, wide open allowing flowers to spill all around them in their vases. Glancing around he noticed a few familiar flowers, but most were unknown to him. There were flowers in every shade of the rainbow. His eyes flowed over them until he came to a young woman standing at the counter. She stood from whatever book lay before her, swiping it to the side as she greeted him.

“Hello. May I help you?”

“Um, yes.” He glanced around the room. “I’m looking for a bouquet for my mum,” he spilled out as he fumbled with his hands. The girl before him was pretty. Her smile was warm, welcoming and she had soft, golden spun hair that spilled across her shoulders. Her eyes were golden honey and when she smiled, they sparkled. His heartache disappeared for a second as he watched this girl move about so freely. “Someone… someone we loved passed away a year ago today.” He swallowed against the stone in his throat. “And I’d like to get her something meaningful. I,” he paused, knowing his cheeks were tinged pink as he turned around. “There’s a language for flowers, yes?”

She nodded slowly, a gentle smile on her face. “Was this - someone important to her? Close?” 

He hesitated. Glancing back over his shoulder, he took in the rain starting to pour out onto the pavement. “Closer to me, but yes. A family member.”

She hummed to herself, placing a finger on her chin as she took a moment to contemplate. “I think I have the perfect set for you.” She came around the counter. “Follow me, Mr…?”

“Um, just call me George.” She nodded as she made her way to the far corner. There, she picked out a basket that she quickly passed to him. Once it was securely in his hands, she turned again and started walking down the aisles where she would pick up a flower here, a flower there, something that looked more like a twig. 

“What was this person’s name?” She asked quietly.

George felt the well inside him open once more. Biting the inside of his cheek, he barely was able to force out his name. “ _ Fred _ .” Another hum and then she was moving on. Her actions left him a little flummoxed. Most would ask more questions. She seemed content with his answer.

It didn’t take much longer for George and the stranger to come walking back to the counter. There she laid out the flowers and arranged them in a little vase, making them stand out beautifully as she settled them into their designated spaces. A few delicate purple pansies, some soft white rosemary, the darkest of purple petunias that lightened around the edges, and olive branches for some greenery made up the little collection. He watched as she added some small light purple flowers clustered together. 

“Phlox,” she commented as she glanced up to see him watching her work. A gentle smile and she handed him the vase. “It’s not a common flower, but it’s perfect to bring life to a bundle like this.”

“What’s it mean?”

“Look it up,” she grinned as he took it from her hands. He reached in his pocket but she waved him off. “It’s on the house.”

“Thank you.” A weird desire rose up in him at that moment. He felt a weird presence at his shoulder. He didn’t need to glance to know there was no one there, but a familiar energy warmed him. Throwing caution to the wind for the first time since … Well, since before, he leaned across the counter and went to kiss her cheek. But instead, she turned at the most inopportune time and their lips met.

An electric charge had them jumping apart. Sure his cheeks were red, he mumbled an apology and waved as he made his way back into the rain.

* * *

He never did return to that flower shop, but that moment was ingrained in him forever, because what many didn’t know was that George Weasley had not kissed a girl.

It had always been Fred with the ladies, the confident air. 

So he cherished that memory and when he finally did go to a bookstore, he picked up a book on the language of flowers. His heart hurt when he read just exactly what Phlox stood for in the flower language and a weird sense rose up in him when he realized his pain must have been very present for her to have picked up on it. 

That girl with no name. The girl from the flower shop. 


End file.
